Earth Gardeners

 ⁵Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. ⁶Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there and do not decrease.  ⁷But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare—Jeremiah 29:5–7.

One of the things Jeremiah tells the exiles in Babylon to do is to plant gardens.  

Have you ever wondered why God would ask him do that?

As a gardener I can tell you that there’s something sacred about tending the Earth, breaking a sweat as you toil to prepare the soil, planting seeds, and tending to them as they grow.  

When we get the soil of a place under our fingernails, it’s hard not forge a connection with the place where we are.  We become rooted and grounded in the place where we garden—even if we’re far from the place we call home.

According to Genesis 1 human life began in a Garden, and according to John 20, new life emerged from a Garden Tomb on Easter.  Maybe this is why, when all else is in turmoil, we tend to come back to our gardens.  During the First and Second World Wars, people in various countries planted Victory Gardens.  They served a practical purpose in that they provided food for the family; but they also made people feel as if they were making a tangible contribution to the war effort.  I have to wonder if the exiles felt the same way as they planted gardens in Babylon—even as they simultaneously wept for what they had lost back in Jerusalem (Psalm 137:1).  

We find ourselves in a time of turmoil now, cut off from the world we knew “before COVID-19” and not sure what the world will be like after this.  Interestingly enough, in the midst of a global pandemic, some are planting gardens again—with both practical and prophetic purpose. 

This past Wednesday was the fiftieth anniversary of Earth Day.  NASA images provide unique views of our world from the vantage point of space.  The iconic 1968 Earthrise image taken by the Astronauts aboard Apollo 8 increased our awareness that there is but one Earth, and we’re all on it together, and led to the first Earth Day in 1970.  Since then, we’ve learned so much more about the planet we call home, how it is changing, and what the consequences may be for all of us on spaceship Earth.   

As we each work to make our little corner of creation a bit more beautiful and good, we make a contribution to the common good of the Earth.  To paraphrase the Weeping Prophet, we realize that in our home planet’s welfare we find our own welfare. As we cultivate gardens of goodness in our time and place, we join a long tradition of good-gardeners dating back to the tenants of the first Garden in Genesis 1, and we fulfill our Creators mandate to be caretakers of Creation, and to exercise just dominion over all that God has given us. 

The Earth Exposed

Read: Genesis 1:26-31; Psalm 8; and Colossians 1:15-20.

We’re living through unprecedented times.  The past we knew is gone; the future that will emerge “after COVID-19”  is uncertain.  In this “space in between” it sometimes feels like the warp and wept of reality has come unraveled.  That’s the name of the current sermon series at Good Shepherd.  A fitting time to consider this topic for sure!

The discussion bought to mind another sermon I heard preached in July 2016.  In it Rev. Carletta Allen reflected that, in the aftermath of several recent incidents of racial violence, some in her congregation suggested that, “Things are getting so much worse in our world.”  Her response has always stuck with me—and I think it truly resonates now:

No, things aren’t getting worse, they are just being exposed.

We must hold on—and keep pushing back the veil.

Consider, for example, an old rug in our home.  Over years and years, its fibers have come unraveled.  We are just about to replace it when we notice something.  The space between the backing and the weaving is not empty.  There is another layer underneath.  The unraveling has exposed a hidden image!  We stop to carefully examine what we have discovered.

Here’s a question for us: 

What is the current pandemic isolation exposing 

that we need to ponder?  

I’m sure we could all name things—both personally and corporately—that have come to light. 

April 22, 2020 is Earth Day.
Image credit: NASA

Since today is the 50th Earth Day, I’d like to focus on what this extended period of reduced human activity has exposed about our home planet—and the choice it presents for us.

Nitrogen dioxide (NO₂) is a pollutant that is emitted from burning fossil fuels.  The average NO₂ concentrations during March 2020 over the Northeast U.S. were considerably lower than the average values for March over the past four years—as shown here.  

Similar pollution reduction has been observed in other places that have experienced economic slowdowns as a result of COVID-19.  Animals travel on highways and bridges normally overcrowded with automobiles, mountain peaks are suddenly visible on the horizon of some cities in India and China—all sort of things are being exposed! 

These images permit glimpses of a potential future for our planet—one with cleaner skies and water, and more sustainability for us and for future generations.  A vision appears in front of us.  Whether it emerges or remains elusive is up to us.  For it to become reality, to paraphrase Rev. Allen: Our job is to hold on to the vision and keep pushing back the veil.  In other words, we’ll have to develop the collective will to do the hard work required to make it last.  While we realistically can’t completely eliminate our use of fossil fuels immediately, we could certainly commit to making some changes as a society that would significantly reduce our dependence on them as we move forward.  

The choices we make will help to shape the world that emerges after this crisis.  It has been that way since the Beginning.  God gave human beings dominion over the created world (Genesis 1:26; Psalm 8:6). It was a charge to reflect the image of our Creator (Genesis 1:27, Colossians 1:15), to share God’s care for creation, and rule over it justly and benevolently for the common good of all.  As followers of Christ, who binds all things together (Colossians 1:17), we’re each to do our part to rebind what has been unraveled by sin and injustice wherever we have influence.  

Unfortunately, as humans are wont to do, we’ve tended to turn the focus on ourselves.  We’ve interpreted dominion as a license to impose our will over the created world and exploit the Other for our benefit.  

Clearly the choices we make have consequences for our planet. The Switzerland option isn’t really viable. We either work with God to make Earth more beautiful and good or we work against God and add to ugliness and evil.  Which brings us back to our original question:

What is this time of pandemic isolation exposing in you?

and now, the crucial follow-up…

What will you choose to do about it?

Holy Saturday: When Nothing Was Everyhing

At that moment the curtain of the Temple was torn into, from the top to the bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs were also opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised.  After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many.  Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s son!”—Matthew 27:51-54 [cf: Mark 15:38-39]

Holy Saturday is a day of uncomfortable waiting that presents followers of Christ today with a paradox.  It is both a day when nothing happens in the conventional story of Jesus and when everything happens that matters to our faith—1 Corinthians 15:12-14.  

On one hand, nothing happens to Jesus on Holy Saturday.  His body lays lifeless in a sealed tomb.  According to Matthew, guards are posted outside the tomb to make sure no one disturbs it or spreads “fake news” about Jesus rising—Matthew 27:62–66. 

On the other hand, Holy Saturday is the day when everything happens that matters to our faith. While humanity was stumbling in the dark, so the legend goes, the Light of the World shined in the Darkest place—where all other light fails.  One tradition is that while the body of Jesus lay lifeless in a borrowed tomb, the Universal Christ waged war with Death and emerged victorious, leading all who were chained in “Hell” to freedom. (The passage from Matthew’s account of the crucifixion cited above is the only indirect reference to this event in the Gospels; if you compare to Mark, you will notice he does not include these details.)  

According to this theology, when Jesus raises from his tomb, he isn’t alone he raises all of humanity with him. (The Greek word for resurrection is anastasis, literally meaning “rising or sitting up”.) The statement Jesus makes here is profound and unmistakable; it resonates through eternity: Even Death ccannot defeat the power of God! [1]

This is an encouraging word for us, who “live out our days on Holy Saturday”.  That is to say, we live life with God in the eternal now, but we also await the not yet, or the fullness of God’s Kingdom.  If his Tomb couldn’t hold Jesus, if Death doesn’t get the last word, that means none of the temporary “deaths” or “tombs” you and I face do either, whether they be imposed by the current Coronavirus threat or by other pain, suffering, hardship, or difficult circumstances we encounter in this life.  God’s power surpasses all these things.

Holy Saturday also reminds us that important things sometimes happen when “on the surface,” things seem lifeless.  Gardeners like me know that plants that look dead in winter are often merely dormant—awaiting spring “resurrection”.  I’m reminded of this on my whenever I look at the trees in my neighborhood.  Every year lifeless brown twigs in winter transform into branches laden with buds and blossoms in spring, which rapidly give way to green leaves. The flora flourish during the summer months and then fade to autumn glory, before the leaves fall and the cycle begins anew. To sum it up: For everything there is a season…— Ecclesiastes 3:1–8.

Tomorrow on Easter, the traditional words we say are: Christ is risen... Christ is risen indeed!  Perhaps, in light of the events of Holy Saturday, we should hasten to add: 

We are risen!  ... we are risen indeed!

God, whenever we find ourselves in that uncomfortable space between the now and the not yet, help us to trust that You are with us. Even when we feel like we are trapped in a tomb, reassure us that You are still here.  No matter how hard the situation may seem, no matter how impossible the odds—help us know that death never has the last word.  A day of resurrection will come when the clouds lift and the Light of the World shines through.  Until that day we commit to: “Just be still.  Just have hope.  And wait for the Lord!”  AMEN

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[1] If you want to learn more about this topic, I highly recommend Resurrecting Easter: How the East Lost and the West Kept the Original Easter Vision [New York: HarperCollins, 2018] by John Dominic and Sarah Sexton Crossan [cover shown above]. This book takes you on a visual tour of the development of theology surrounding Jesus’s resurrection. 

What Do We Do With Time in the Tomb?

We are living in an uncomfortable (liminal) space right now. In a matter of weeks, the insidious Coronavirus has reshaped our society, virtually bringing the powers of this world to their knees, crippling the global economy, and forcing us to abandon our “normal” routines, withdraw to our homes, and minimize contact with the outside world, all in hopes that we can “flatten the curve” and contain the spread of a virus that currently has no cure. While not lethal to most, it’s ten times more deadly to those at risk than the seasonal flu. It is a challenging and scary time for us all. 

Telling the Story of COVID-19

As a writer, I wonder what kind of stories will emerge from these unprecedented times?  As with any personal or corporate tragedy we live through, the story usually comes into focus with the passage of time.  It may take years, or even decades, to adequately describe the radical change we are presently experiencing.  When we reflect back on the Coronavirus pandemic, how will we describe it?  How will future us say that we are different because of this tragedy?  What will our children write about it—based on what their parents or grandparents tell them?  How will people not even born today interpret this time when they read about it in history books?  Will people ask us why we didn’t see it coming—as we do about the characters in the Holy Week drama followers of Jesus remember this week? (See Should the Disciples Have Seen it Coming, below.)  Why wasn’t it more obvious to us?  Didn’t people try to warn us this could happen, they might ask.  If they didn’t, why not?   If they did, why didn’t we listen?  

As we try and find words to articulate this experience, both now and in years to come, we will inevitably look for analogous times in history.  The COVID-19 pandemic is already being compared to the Bubonic Plague in Europe (1347–mid-1350s), and to the more recent Influenza Epidemic (1918/1920).  But another, less obvious comparison has come to my mind this week. I think what we’re living through might be similar to what the first Holy Saturday was like for those who lived through it.  While the first followers of Jesus “sheltered in place” to avoid execution for treason against Rome, we do it to prevent the spread of a virus, but both isolate us and cut us off from our normal routines in the world we knew before now.  Also, in both cases, we are not sure when (or if) it will be safe to reenter the world again—nor how the world we reenter will be different than the one we left, though it surely will be different.

In light of this possible connection, maybe it’s helpful to look a bit closer at Holy Week this year—both what it is like now (in 2020) and what it would’ve been like then (in ~33 AD, when those first followers of Jesus lived through it.)  We might discover that this year presents a unique opportunity for twenty-first century Christ followers to experience solidarity with how those first followers felt—and especially on Holy Saturday.   

Should the Disciples Have Seen It Coming?

If you read the Gospel accounts of Holy Week, it seems Jesus had told his closest followers to expect precisely what happened to them when he was with them.  For example, the Gospel of Mark (thought to be the oldest Gospel, and the easiest to follow the chronology of events of Holy Week) records three times when Jesus tries to tell them what was going to happen when they went to Jerusalem (Mark 8:31–33; 9:30–32; 10:32–34).  Each time the disciples respond in ways that show they’ve failed to “hear” it.  Sometimes we tend to think of the Disciples as dimwits who simply didn’t get it, no matter how hard Jesus tried to explain things to them.   But, is that really a fair assessment?  I mean, let’s be honest, those people we meet on the pages of the Gospels are you and me. I can’t help but think if I had been in their sandals, I’d probably have been just as unprepared as they were. 

The fact is, no one living at that time would’ve expected resurrection?!  It’s not like there’s a true precedent.  Okay, maybe the rising of Lazarus (John 11:1–44) which presumably at least some of the disciples witnessed, should’ve clued them in.   But that was at least death by natural causes.  No one—and I mean, no one—came back from a Roman crucifixion.  When Rome killed you, you were “really most extremely dead.”  As far as we know, the resurrection (assuming you believe it literally happened) is a unique event in human history.  It didn’t happen to anyone before Jesus, and it hasn’t happened again sense.

I think it’s easy to forget this when we read descriptions of Holy Week in the Gospels, where it almost seems like the people involved realized things instantly—especially in John’s Gospel.  But keep in mind the stories of the life of Jesus and its meaning that we have recorded in the Bible were all written at least several decades after Jesus lived, when those who lived through it had time to reflect on what they experienced and then either wrote down stories about it themselves (e.g., Matthew and John), or told them to other storytellers (e.g., Mark and Luke) who did the writing. 

What’s So Holy About Saturday?

As a follower of Christ in the year 2020, we aren’t really sure what to do with the day between Good Friday and Easter.  I mean, Jesus died on the Cross yesterday, and the Tomb is empty tomorrow—but what do we do with the time in the Tomb?  Not much to see here…   Awkward!...  We'll come back when "He is Risen!"?

    

The fact is, more than 2000 years of Church history affords us the privilege of ignoring Holy Saturday.   After all, we already know the “full story” of  Holy Week; if anything we are overfamiliar with it.  We almost take it for granted.  We can blithely say, “That Good Friday service was kind of  a downer…  I’m glad that’s over.  I can’t wait for tomorrow!”  No need to dwell on unpleasant topics like death in the year 2020 for too long.  Onward to resurrection!  

In fact, the majority skip Holy Thursday and Good Friday entirely and, if they show up for services at all, it’s only once the Tomb is empty.  (Regular attenders like me call these folks Easter Lilies, since they fill the space and make it so pretty for a week, but then they fade away, leaving a barren and near-empty sanctuary the next Sunday.)   Granted, some may attend Easter Vigils on Holy Saturday, but that’s more common in Eastern Orthodox churches.  For most Western Protestants, it’s “business as usual” on Holy Saturday. [1] Baseball and soccer games, grocery store trips, Easter egg hunts, and other spring activities dominate our agenda, or perhaps rehearsal for some aspect of the Easter Sunday service, where we sing  that, “Christ is risen,” even as (according to Scripture and tradition) he lays dead in the Tomb. In a typical year our Western culture tends to skip over Holy Saturday in our rush to Easter.

Colored glass images of Holy Week.
Good Shepherd UMC.
Waldorf, MD

The First Holy Week:  When Triumph Turned to Tragedy

The first followers of Jesus certainly couldn’t take Easter for granted as we do—because it hadn’t been invented yet!   Whether they should’ve expected what happened can be debated (see above), but that they didn’t seems pretty clear, based on how they reacted to the events as they happened.  

For example, when the Disciples receive the incredible news from the women about the Empty Tomb the next morning, their first thought is not: “He is risen!”  It’s likely something more along the lines of: “Oh bloody marvelous!  It’s not enough we had to watch our friend murdured by the Romans on Friday,  now some common criminal has stolen his body!”  Even once they see the Empty Tomb with their own eyes, they still struggle to understand what is going on.  I don’t think it really dawns on them immediately—despite how some of the Gospel stories portray it.  It’s not until the book of Acts (taking place weeks, if not months, later) that they really begin acting like people who truly believe: “He is risen indeed!.”

Such a delayed reaction is probably precisely what you would expect from a group of people who have had their world turned upside down by the events of Holy Week.  Jesus was not only their Rabbi; he had become their friend.  On Palm Sunday, when their ragtag band entered Jerusalem, and they were met with shouts of “Hosanna!” they must have felt on top of the Temple.  They thought Jesus was about to establish himself as King, just like David did back in the “good old days.” Most of them were probably lobbying for “cabinet positions” in the new regime—we know James and John were (Mark 10:35–40) with their mother's help (Matthew 20:20–23).

But of course, that’s not what happened.  Just five days later, a crowd—most likely not the same people—manipulated by the religious and political leaders, shouted, “Crucify him!”  

The First Holy Saturday

It all unraveled so fast!  He is betrayed by one of his closest followers, denied by another, and abandoned by all of them.  By sundown on Friday night (when the Jewish Sabbath begins), Jesus has been executed by the Romans and his followers found themselves hiding away, trying to avoid being identified as an associate of the “rebel Jesus”—and likely facing the same fate as he.  It was a sad Sabbath to be sure; all their hopes and dreams must seem as dead as their friend Jesus was.  

Huddled away in hiding, I'm sure they felt trapped.  I imagine it felt like an eerie place of death—a tomb—especially since it’s likely their “safehouse” was the same Upper Room where they had eaten their last meal with Jesus just a few nights earlier.  

Holy Saturday 2020—Enduring Our Time in the “Tomb”

I relate to how those first followers felt on Holy Saturday more than ever this year.  After several weeks of social isolation, my home at moments feels like a tomb—in the sense that the four walls limit my family’s movement.  (Yes, I know I can go outside whenever I want, but indulge my hyperbole.) My family longs to be freer than we are; we want to be able to go and do what we would normally be doing this time of year.  We long to worship at our church building on Easter this Sunday—but we can’t.   We long just to eat a meal out at a favorite restaurant!   My kids lament the loss of the activities they had planned this spring—e.g., baseball, softball, school plays, birthday parties with friends.  (I must say I don’t miss the hour-each-way commute to my office a couple days a week.)  

There are moments when the four bodies in our “temporary tomb” get a bit too close for comfort and we must retreat to our separate sepulchers.   For the most part, though, we’re enduring—and even enjoying—one another and doing our best to get through the present inconvenience.  We’re thankful that we’re healthy—and we are aware that many are in much more peril than us on a daily basis right now.  We take our time in the tomb in stride and we try the make the best of it.  What choice do we have?  We’re resolved that it’s going to be a while before Easter truly comes this year.  But, O, how we plan to celebrate when it does!

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[1] In his memoir, The Pastor, Eugene Petersen explains how his father’s butcher shop had one if its busiest days of the year on Holy Saturday, as people purchased meat for their Easter dinner tomorrow.  While Jesus lay in the grave, business was booming in butcher shop!

The Spiritual Practice of Social Distancing

How are you doing?  I’m hearing that question a lot this week.  I guess we’re all coping with social distancing as best we can.   I hope we can stay connected during this time when we can’t gather in person as we normally do.  Both at my job for NASA, and even more importantly, at my church, I see it happening.  There's a learning curve to be sure, but for the most part, we seem willing to climb it. We don’t really have a choice, do we?  Sometimes necessity is indeed the mother of invention.

New things tend come about when we think outside the box—and that's particularly true when our familiar box is suddenly gone, as it is right now.  I suspect this will be one of those times in history where we look back and compare what life was like before "the COVID-19 pandemic" and after it.  We will be different because of what we're now living through.  The question is: Will we be changed for the better?  Some of the changes we're forced to make now will likely be changes we choose to continue into the future.  Choices we make about how we respond to this crisis now will shape our society for years to come... ... ... 

So, did you see this whole thing coming?  I didn’t—not at first.  Or maybe I chose not to see?   I'm something of a late adapter.  I love my routine and I put off change as long as I can—which in this case was about a week.  

Like everyone, I heard the ominous news reports the past couple months about this new virus spreading rapidly, first in China, then in Europe. But that was “not here,” so I went on living my life, somewhat naively thinking (??hoping??) that, in the end, despite the increasingly dire tone of the news reporting, this would in fact be “just another flu outbreak” in the U.S.  I didn’t think it was a hoax, but I hoped we might in fact be overreacting. 

I remember before the 9/11 attacks, I lived with a certain hubris regarding terrorist attacks.  I assumed that such a major attack could never happen on American soil.  You can’t really blame me.  After all, nothing of that magnitude had been unleashed in America until that fateful day in history when the attacks happened—with devastating consequences for our nation.  I remember writing in my journal that night that “the world had changed” that day.  Since then, we’ve been acutely aware of an “unseen” enemy in the world that wants to do us harm and taken steps to try and prevent future attacks in this country. 

I think I had similar feelings about a virus outbreak in the U.S. as I did about terrorist attacks before 9/11.  To me, a rapidly spreading pandemic was the stuff of science fiction.  Maybe it could happen in some “third world” country—but not here in the U.S.  After all, we’ve got a good health system.  We’d surely be able to mitigate any threat before it got out of hand…  Wouldn’t we?... Apparently not.  

As worrisome as the threat of terrorist attacks were and are, novel Coronavirus seems to be an even more insidious threat.  This is a truly invisible enemy, operating at the level only a microscope can see.  Yet, once again, the U.S. seemed to have a certain amount of hubris in its response.  After seeing what happened in China and Italy, couldn’t we see all of this coming?  Or was our government kind of like me?  Did they choose not to see?  Our President seemed confident the threat would magically disappear… until it became obvious it wouldn’t.  

To be fair, there have been disease outbreaks before—Swine Flu (H1N1 and others), SARS, Ebola, and we (the U.S) responded to each one as they arose.  While there were deaths in the U.S. (sometimes even including people we know personally), on the whole, America went on with business as usual in terms of societal interaction.   I guess we assumed Coronavirus/COVID-19 would be no different. 

But now we seem to be catching up to the fact that Coronavirus is a whole new ballgame.  It’s not “just another flu”, nor is it a hoax dreamed up by your political opponents to cost your “guy” the next election.  It’s a real threat and we best take it seriously or our healthcare system could face a crisis that it’s not prepared to handle.  We’ve already wasted precious days with our lack of response—but we can’t go back and change that, we can only act decisively moving forward.  The fact is, people we know could be impacted by this threat.   And this says nothing of the economic impact it’s already having.  

Flattening the curve is a proven practice to mitigate the
impact of a pandemic—particularly when no vaccine exists
.  Source: CDC.

States and municipalities across the country are one-by-one scrambling to implement extreme social distancing to try and “flatten the curve” and slow the spread of the virus.  I’ve never seen anything like this in my lifetime.  (Few remain alive who would remember the 1918 and 1920 Spanish Influenza outbreak; what I read about this epidemic that might be the only time in our history where such extreme measures were implemented to stop the spread of a disease—e.g., church gatherings were halted back then.)  

And so, the Madness this March is not happening on a basketball court, it is being caused by COVID-19.  All major sports have either delayed or cancelled their seasons.  College basketball cancelled all of its post season tournaments—which normally draw tens of thousands to arenas all around the nation.  The start of spring sports for college, high-school, and recreational sports are all cancelled or delayed.  The Kentucky Derby and Masters golf tournament have been postponed.

Many school districts are closed for a minimum of two weeks—and will likely be closed for much longer.  Teleworking, which was until now an option for some,  has hastily become mandatory for many, testing the limits of our IT infrastructure.  Restaurants and bars remain open, but only serve carry out; gyms are closed too.  Places of worship are closed and leaders scramble to figure out what it looks like to maintain community exclusively online for the foreseeable future.  Gas stations and grocery stores remain open—although store shelves are depleted of certain items (e.g., toilet paper!) at times.   Overall, the Center for Disease Control has recommended restricting all non-essential travel and not gathering in groups of 10 or larger  All of this to “flatten the curve,” and protect lives. 

Many times, in recent days, I’ve read a correspondence or heard something said like:  Bear with us.  We are dealing with an unprecedented situation and figuring things out as we go.  Yeah, I’d say so!  I feel like we’re laboratory mice being subjected to a societal experiment the outcome of which will have existential consequences for some in our society.  

We really have no choice at this point.  The experts tell us that If we don’t practice extreme social distancing now, we risk a repeat of what is happening in Italy as I write this article in about 11 days.  Hospitals in Italy are completely overwhelmed; some elderly patients are being turned away.  Despite all that—because I selfishly don’t like changing my routine—I still find myself wondering if we are overreacting.  The thing is,  we’ll probably never know conclusively exactly how much social distancing was truly required.  If the plan actually works to slow the spread of the virus—preventing more extensive loss of life in this country (and this world)—then some critics will inevitably say we overreacted—precisely because less people died than would have if we hadn’t enacted these seemingly draconian measures to prevent it. 

When it comes to America’s response to this global pandemic,  it seems we’re damned if we do too much and we’re damned if we don’t do enough.  However,  it seems clear at this point that if we had we continued with business as usual in our lives, we would have placed many more people’s lives in jeopardy—and history may well have judged us as damned fools. 

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Three weeks ago was Ash Wednesday—when Christians around the world mark the start of Lent. What did you “give up” for Lent?  Do you even remember?   Personally, I think my attitude going into Lent was pretty lackadaisical: “Ho-hum, another Lent begins.”  What a difference a few weeks can make!

Lent runs for 40 days—not including Sundays—between Ash Wednesday and Easter.  The time period is modeled after the time that Jesus spent in the wilderness immediately following his baptism, being tempted by the Devil.  This even is briefly mentioned in Mark, 1:12-13, and described in detail in both Matthew 4:1-11 and Luke 4:1-13.  I never thought about it, but I guess Jesus practice an extended period of social distancing.  He followed the time-honored tradition of withdrawing to the desert.

Many Christ followers have followed in the footsteps of Jesus via an ancient well-worn path called the Threefold Way. It is a path commonly traversed during the season of Lent.  In short, the way it works is the traveler identifies and removes whatever prevents a closer walk with God (purgation), so that he/she can see God more clearly (illumination) and draw closer to God (contemplation or union).  Again, this can be thought of as following the footsteps of Jesus through the desert, where he resisted the Devil's three temptations, came to see more clearly who he was (the Son of God), and drew closer to God "the Father".

I find it interesting (coincidental?) that, this year, the Season of Lent coincides with a time of involuntary social distancing for most of the world.  It’s as if nature itself—and the God who controls it—has imposed Lenten self-denial upon the human race.  So much that we take for granted in our daily routines is now stripped away.  Maybe, there was some ugliness hiding beneath those routines?  It’s painful to have that mess suddenly exposed.

But this interruption is also an opportunity for God to work in us.  We all get a chance to recalibrate and rediscover ourselves in the midst of this global pandemic.  We can use this time of involuntary social distancing to draw closer to those closest to us—and closer to God.  

I am a Meyers–Brigg “J”; I thrive on routine, and right now it’s gone!  I feel like a ship without a rudder.  The familiar is stripped away and I have to rebuild a new normal for these unprecedented times.  But maybe there’s something good about this? Maybe there are habits I’ve fallen into—things that have become too “routine” for me—that only times like this can change.  I don’t mean to suggest that God causes a global pandemic, or any other tragedy or suffering.  But I do believe that God uses all things—even the bad things—to shape us into the people God needs us to be.   Let’s pray that God will do that with all of us in this time of social distancing.

QUESTIONS TO THINK ABOUT: 

·      What are you learning about yourself during this time of involuntary social distancing?

·      What do you think is being revealed about our society right now?

·      Do you think it’s a coincidence all this occurs during Lent?  

·      The article discusses the Threefold Way. What might God be trying to strip from you during this time of social distancing, so that God’s light can shine more clearly through you, and lead you and others to a deeper experience of God this Lent?

·      Do you think some of the changes we are forced to make now individually and as a society could become things we choose to continue when this crisis is over?  

Demystifying Christian Mysticism

When I was younger, and had more disposable hours, I used to play Dungeons & Dragons and other fantasy role playing games (RPGs).  In such games, you might say you compose your own movie.  Each player becomes a “character” in the story, and you go on adventures together—with someone providing leadership, called the “gamemaster”.  One of the professions your character could choose was mystic—a type of “magic user” who drew power from his/her mind.  (In contrast, the priest drew power from his/her god.)  In this sense,  the Jedi from Star Wars might be thought of as mystic warriors—drawing upon the energy of the mystic Force to accomplish great feats of valor—but able to do so because they have disciplined their minds.  

I’ve also heard various individuals throughout Christian history described as mystics.  However, before now, I could not have defined what makes one a Christian Mystic. 

The very name itself should give us a hint that it’s a little mysterious exactly what this job description should include.  If we could travel through history, say via Mr. Peabody’s time machine, we would meet a variety of different people living in different times, places, and circumstances who theologians classify as mystics. For example, I’m taking an online class right now on Christian Mysticism.  The first week was an introduction, and then in the next three weeks, we will consider Hildegard of Bingen, Thomas Merton, and Mary Oliver.  These are three unique individuals, each from different historical settings—but all considered mystics.    Concurrently, I’ve been reading another book that describes Howard Thurman as a mystic. [1] Thurman’s example seems fitting to include as we begin African American History Month.

So, what is it all these diverse people called mystics have in common?

While Christian Mysticism does deal with disciplining the mind to emulate Christ, my RPG past only reveals part of the answer.   According to The Center for Action and Contemplation’s (CAC’s) devotional readings, Christian mysticism is more about having an undeniable, authentic, and sometimes ecstatic, God-experience; it is described as “focusing more on experiential knowing [of God] over academic knowledge [of God].”  Mystics are people who “see things in their wholeness,” says Richard Rohr (founder of CAC). Further, mystics function more like poets and artists, and other creative “outside the box” thinkers than mathematicians and scientists, who tend to dwell more in the realm of established formulas and linear processes.  

Given that definition, I think we could certainly use more of the mystical perspective in our religious and political discourse today.   We live in a world that is deeply polarized.   I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to speak my mind if I know it goes against the prevailing opinion of my friends on a given topic. We get caught up in our tribe, perfecting our orthodoxy (the right way of thinking), and protecting the “tribal borders” from invading ideologies.   

Consider, for example, what happens on Facebook (other social media platforms are similar—if not worse)  if someone has a thought that runs contrary to the prevailing opinion on a given thread.  It’s fascinating to watch; it’s not unlike white blood cells surrounding an infection in a human body.  Someone posts a view contrary to the prevailing opinion of the online tribe and within minutes—or even seconds—like-minded online friends have “surrounded it” and quashed it—and they often aren’t particularly nice about it. In that kind of sterilized echo chamber, we run the risk of becoming convinced our tribe has it all right, which implies the rest of the world has it all wrong.  But, of course, we know most real-life issues are complex,  defying such dualistic thinking.

Learning to see mystically, as described by those who have done it, seems to offer a cure for the “us versus them” dualism that so often plays out in human relationships in our world, and that seems to make it virtually impossible for those with differing views to find common ground.  The mystic path offers an alternative to our culture’s tendency toward dualistic (a.k.a., either/or) thinking.  God teaches mystics to become more comfortable with both/and thinking.  They realize that no side has the market cornered on the truth.  

Jesus walked the mystic path. (Richard Rohr suggests Jesus was the first non-dual mystic in the West, and that part of what got him killed is that human society wasn’t ready to follow his Way.  We might consider: Are we any more prepared today?)  Make no mistake, the world he entered was deeply polarized, maybe even more than the one we have today.  While Jesus didn’t have to navigate social media as we do, every faction that existed tried to get Jesus to “join their side”—Zealots, Essenes, Pharisees, Sadducees, you name it.  And of course, in the end, Jesus did emphatically choose a side—against the religious and political powers of his day and in solidarity with the powerless, the least, last, and lost—which ended up costing him his life. But if you look at Jesus’s interactions with people, it does seem he managed to remain aloof and not pinned down by one faction or another—at least until he was ready to be pinned down, literally, for the redemption of the whole world.  How did he manage that?  

I think it’s because his wisdom (which was God’s wisdom) transcended all the political and/or religious options and pointed them all toward what Paul would later describe as a “more excellent way”, which he summarized in one word: agape, or unconditional love. 

The good news is this path is available to all of us if we choose to pursue it.  I know the name mystic sounds, well, mysterious.  But keep in mind that in the Bible, mysterious doesn’t mean secret, as much as it means hidden.  (Secret knowledge of God was more in the realm of Gnosticism.)  The prophet Isaiah said, “Truly you are a God who hides”—Isaiah 45:10, and Paul, whom Marcus Borg dubbed a Jewish-Christ-Mystic,  describes Jesus as the God-mystery made flesh—e.g., Colossians 1:26-27, 2:2.  Since those who follow Jesus are said to be part of his Body, that means that those who follow Christ can be conveyors of the God-mystery.   In other words, we can all be mystics. 

Now, if I’m honest, I’ve never really thought of myself as a mystic.  I think I always thought it was for “special people”.  I don’t know that I can point to a single extraordinary God-experience that I’ve had. But, on the other hand, I have the experience gained from walking with God every day for 49+ years.  That must count for something.   Seen in that light, maybe I do qualify to be a mystic—and maybe you do too!

What I’ve learned is that you don’t have to retreat to a monastery to be a mystic.  You can practice God’s Presence anywhere.  Although many that we revere as saints are also mystics, we find that the two are not the same thing.  Saints tend to be those associated with supernatural acts of goodness, while mystics are those who know God intimately, and have had their life transformed by Divine Presence.  Put more simply, “saints embody goodness while mystics embody love.”

Some mystics have become famous for the writing they’ve left behind.  We learn from those who lived centuries ago, as well as those who lived more recently.  However, far more mystics remain anonymous, experiencing God in their own unique context, but still every bit as authentic as a Thomas Merton or Evelyn Underhill or Howard Thurman.  

As Carmelite Friar, William McNamara says it, “The mystic is not a special kind of person; each person is a special kind of mystic.” 

According to the CAC, it seems that, “what makes someone a mystic is less about a top-down kind of approval and more about an organic, broad-based recognition on the part of the people whose lives have been touched.  In other words, mystics teach us how to find God, and a great mystic is someone who has been recognized for doing this particularly well.”

So, then the question for us to wrestle with is not: Am I a mystic?  Because it seems we all have that capability within us if we choose to pursue it.  Rather, we should be asking: What kind of mystic am I?  What do I need to do to uncover more of the mystic within me? For God needs the unique Christ-mystery hidden in you.

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 [1] See Chapter 2 of Blessed are the Peacemakers [2005: Wyndham Hall Press] by Rev. Dr. C. Anthony Hunt, see pp. 60–65.